


Most Ardently Loved

by firenzia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Angel Wings, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Couch Sex, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Erotica, Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Sex, Sex with wings, Smut, Tender Sex, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wedding Night, Wedding Night Sex, Wing Kink, romantic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-11-08 07:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20831318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firenzia/pseuds/firenzia
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale’s wedding night.Involving wine, and wings, and other ineffable things.





	Most Ardently Loved

**Author's Note:**

> {This is a companion piece to the wedding story in my ‘Love, and Other Ineffable Things’ series. If you want to read the wedding story itself, go here: [Making It Official](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20616644)}

* * *

It was just barely dark out, and not so very late at all. The bookstore had been closed all day, and a very well-dressed and exhilarated angel had just finished pouring two glasses of red wine. 

The moment they got home from the restaurant, Aziraphale had made straight for the wine cabinet in the back room. He selected one of the high-end cabernets that they had been saving for a special occasion, figuring that if this didn’t signify then nothing did. He poured them each a generous serving, and they had taken their glasses to go relax on the sofa. He was exhausted and overwhelmed, and eager to enjoy his husband in private. 

Crowley settled back against the cushions with a sigh, and Aziraphale curled up happily against him. They had both taken off their jackets, but were still wearing the rest of their wedding attire and basking in the glow of excitement from the day. Crowley put a lanky arm snug round his shoulders and held out his glass to him, smiling. “To the future?”

Aziraphale kissed him and clinked their glasses gently together. “To _our_ future. To _our _side,” he replied. 

The two men sipped in blissful silence for a few minutes, eyes closed. The dark red wine was truly excellent, rich and dry, and Aziraphale reflected that he was probably the luckiest person alive. 

He couldn’t remember ever feeling more content. He was home, alone with his demon after a perfect day, and more at peace with himself than he had ever been before.A kind of alchemy had taken place beneath his skin, and he marveled at the feeling of liberation. Together they had created something entirely new and unprecedented, an entity set apart, and the public act of declaring themselves had somehow hammered that home on a visceral level. A new and wild sense of freedom had taken root in his chest, anchored in his love for Crowley.

He pressed his nose into his husband’s neck, inhaling deeply. Heavens, but he smelled good. The unique musky scent of him, the fever-warm nearness of him. It was intoxicating. It filled him up and made his head spin in a way that had nothing to do with the wine. He ran his eyes down Crowley’s slender body, imagining how the dark grey shirt, waistcoat and trousers would eventually look crumpled on the floor. The image gave him a surge of entirely pleasurable desire, and he felt himself respond with a lurch. He stretched a little and shifted his hips slightly, enjoying the feeling.

He sighed, and Crowley turned to look at him with a lazy smile. He set his glass down on the side table and kissed his forehead, then put a hand under his chin and tilted his head back to nuzzle his throat.

“So, my angel.” He could still hear the smile in his voice. “How does it feel? Being completely, officially disreputable?”

He sighed again, and took an extra-large gulp from his glass. “Disreputable indeed. I certainly don’t feel much like an angel anymore,” he admitted. “I haven’t for a while. I don’t quite know what I am.” It was the first time he had dared to say it out loud, but now the thought gave him only a mild bemusement instead of dismay. 

Crowley tightened his arm around him and kissed the side of his head. “You’ll always be an angel to me.” He set a hand on his lap and brushed teasingly over the bulge between his legs, sending a jolt through him. Trust him to notice _that_ right away. “Even if you’re not a very good one,” he continued. “Look at you, _fraternizing_ with the enemy.” His hand squeezed on the word, nearly making Aziraphale spit out his mouthful of wine. 

He coughed and elbowed the snickering Crowley, then snuggled a little closer once he caught his breath. “Today was wonderful. Everything was perfect.” He took a fresh sip, and watched the way the lamplight turned the russet hair to gold and gilded the sharp edges of his cheekbones. “I only wish we’d done it a long time ago.”

Crowley was toying with the buttons on the front of his waistcoat now, but at that he stopped and raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s hardly _my_ fault. For the record, I’d have kissed you far sooner if I hadn’t thought you would punch me.” 

“I might have,” he admitted shamefacedly. “Far sooner, hm? When, exactly?” 

Crowley squinted and pursed his lips in mock thought. “Oh, I don’t know. Sometime on the Garden wall, probably?” 

A lump rose in his throat for the hundredth time that day, and he swallowed it down along with his gulp of wine. He rested his head on the demon’s shoulder and looked up at him, blinking away a pricking feeling in his eyes. “I’ve loved you for almost my entire life,” he said wonderingly. “Yet I was so sure I was doing the right thing by keeping you away for all those years. I was such a fool.” He sighed, and Crowley squeezed his shoulder.

“Hey now, none of that. You’re perfect, and all that matters is that we’re together now.” He smiled down at him, golden eyes soft and happy and full of all the earnest things he had said during his vows that day. “You’re here with me. Nothing else is important.” He kissed him, lingering this time, and tugged playfully at his bow tie. "Absolutely nothing else matters, my angel.”

Aziraphale just looked at him, at his beautiful, adored face, and reached up to touch his cheek. “I can’t believe I almost missed out on you,” he whispered, throat constricting again. “I must’ve been insane.”

Crowley snorted and pulled him in closer, wrapping both arms around him. “Well, yes. But you’re sane now.”

He shook his head. “No, not in the slightest,” he said softly, cheek pressed against his chest. “You turned me inside out and set me on fire. You shattered my life and put it back together in a completely new shape.”

There was a pause, then Crowley spoke uncertainly. “Is…that good?”

In answer he kissed him again, long and deep, sliding his tongue into his mouth and tasting him. Crowley moaned and leaned into it, tightening his arm around his shoulders and cupping his other hand to his cheek. He kissed him as if it would kill him to stop, and Aziraphale’s head started to spin in earnest as his groin throbbed anew. All the overwhelming emotions of the day seemed to flare up and catch fire all at once, and he was suddenly not even remotely tired. 

He fingers went slack on the wine glass stem, and he let it fall away. It shattered somewhere on the floor, but he didn’t care. He put his hands on Crowley’s shoulders, and with one swift motion pulled himself up and over onto his lap, knees sinking into the cushions as he straddled him. Aziraphale held his face between his hands and looked down at him. ”You are my life,” he said seriously. “You are a part of my very soul.” 

He buried his hand in the beautiful red hair and pulled his head back, and covered his mouth with his own. He kissed him with every bit of passion that had built up over the course of the day, with all the tender joy that had burst through him as Crowley poured his heart out in his vows. He kissed him with six thousand years worth of apologies and lost time. He kissed him and kissed him, pouring all his love and gratitude into it, letting it say everything he couldn’t put into words.

All those years, every time he stumbled, Crowley had been there with a steadying arm. He had been ostracized, and Crowley’s arms had been there to catch him. And now those arms were around him, constant as the stars, and he had no intention of ever letting him go. 

Crowley’s impatient hands were wandering now, running up and down every inch of his body, stroking his hips and and thighs and the places between. He unbuttoned his brown waistcoat and bent to kiss his stomach through the white dress shirt, hands holding tight on his waist. 

Crowley finally lifted his head and looked at him again, slitted eyes huge and gleaming golden in the lamplight. As their eyes met the demon went utterly still, and he just sat there with lips softly parted, gazing up at the angel like a blind man seeing the sky for the first time. There was such unexpected raw longing and tenderness, hunger and adoration blazing in every line of his face that it took Aziraphale’s breath away. He looked back down at him, startled and humbled, feeling as if his heart might stop. 

He moved his hand from Crowley’s hair to grip under his chin. “Come  here, darling,” he whispered, and pulled their mouths together, tenderly this time. He wound the silver-grey tie around his hand and _pulled_, both with his arm and with his power, and every single piece of Crowley‘s clothing spun off him in a flurry of fabric, winging into the air to land in disarray somewhere behind the sofa. Crowley blinked up at him, startled and suddenly quite naked beneath him. 

“Oh. Goodness,” Aziraphale said, taken aback in spite of himself. He had intended to simply unbutton everything, but apparently his emotions had influenced it far more than he thought possible. Perhaps he had pulled a bit too hard. 

Crowley’s eyes flashed, and with a snap of his fingers Aziraphale’s clothes simply vanished. He didn’t even have time to wonder where they had vanished to before Crowley had his hands on his waist and was pulling him roughly down towards him. Aziraphale grabbed his hips as they came together, and all was heat and grasping hands and the gorgeous press of Crowley's hot arousal as he reached down and rubbed himself against him. 

Crowley paused suddenly with hands clawed on his back. “Wh- what about the books?” he asked faintly. There were piles of fragile old books stacked precariously all around the sofa, both on the floor and side tables, some of which were the product of hours of careful cataloging and organizing. Aziraphale was usually adamant that they move upstairs for this sort of thing. 

“Bugger the books,” he said fiercely, and from the way Crowley looked at him he briefly wondered if he had gone mad. He decided he didn’t give half a damn if he had. He wanted to have sex with his husband right now, and come Hell or God Herself he was going to have him. 

He reached down and took hold of him, wrapping his fingers around the rock hard shaft, and slid down onto him with a groan. 

Crowley exhaled shakily, hands clasping tight on his hips, and looked up at him again. That look did things to Aziraphale that even his mouth couldn’t do. “Tell me you love me.”

Aziraphale shifted to wrap his legs around his narrow waist, and held him close. “You are precious to me,” he said quietly, “and I love you with all my heart.”

Crowley closed his eyes and sighed, face upturned, soaking in the words. He kissed his neck and bit him gently on the exact place where the bruise had been earlier, sending chills rippling down his spine. “I love you too, my beautiful angel,” he murmured. He wrapped his arms around his middle and embraced him, pressing his warm lips to his chest. “God, I love you so much.” He reached up and ran a hand down the side of his face, down his chest and stomach, to finally wrap his fingers around his erection. “I love you I love you I love you...” He kept saying it until his air ran out, and Aziraphale finally stopped his mouth with his own. 

He rode him, rocking back and forth as they both moaned the other's name, gasping at the feel of each other. He pulled him close, moving his hips firmly, deliberately, losing himself in the lovely sensation of him pressing deep inside and the wonderful noises he was making.   


“More,” Crowley panted. He was looking up at him with that same desperately hungry expression, lips slightly parted and eyes glazed. He was thrusting up hard with his own hips, moving with him, holding Aziraphale’s throbbing member tight against his stomach between them. “Please, more.”

Aziraphale moaned and rode him as hard as he could, grunting with effort and grabbing the back of the sofa for leverage. Crowley whimpered and clutched at his buttocks, helping him move on his lap. His hands were warmer even than his own burning skin, and for a long time nothing else existed. Crowley was his, and nothing mattered beyond giving him as much pleasure as possible.   


He made love to his demon husband with abandon, and dared heaven to stop him. 

Despite his best intentions to refrain, Aziraphale felt that bit of willpower slip, the tiny subconscious fingerhold that he usually tried to forget was there. His wings unfurled from his back and stretched out wide, and he heard at least one stack of books topple and crash onto the floor as the furniture around them was abruptly shoved aside. He paused, breathless and chagrined, but not enough so to stop. 

Crowley chuckled and kissed him. He reached out to caress the nearest wing, and the angel eagerly folded them in close to meet his hand. The long fingers buried themselves into the white feathers, and Aziraphale gasped at the pure, blinding sensation.

It felt like- like fingers running through his hair along his scalp, except a hundred times more intense. It wasn’t a sexual feeling, exactly, only an incredibly intimate one. It felt more like someone was touching a piece of his bare soul than a part of his body.   


Crowley kept his hand there and kissed him, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and biting softly. ”My compass,” he murmured. His warm fingers brushed over the delicate skin as he reached out and drew both wings toward him, ever so gently. “My constellation,” he whispered, and tilted his head to press his lips to his throat. He carefully wrapped his hands around the base of each wing and ran his palms up along the tops, caressing him down the entire length of the limbs. Aziraphale sighed and arched backwards, leaning into his hands, trusting him to not let him fall. His husband slid an arm around his waist, and there was a sudden rush of wind as his own night-black wings burst forth. They wrapped around him, catching and holding him steady, silky feathers brushing his bare skin. He sighed as he hung there, suspended in perfect bliss.  


Time stopped. 

The world itself seemed to hold its breath as Crowley stroked each of his wings again, slowly, trailing his fingers through the pale feathers, smoothing them down and tracing the shape of them one by one. He undulated his hips in a steady rhythm at the same time, and the angel moaned as fresh tingles rippled up through the fullness of his body, merging with and amplifying the ecstasy radiating from his back. Crowley made a low, pleased sound deep in his throat and ran his tongue across his bare chest, licking the salt off his skin. He made love to him that way, with his arm around his waist and his hand stroking lines of shivering euphoria through his feathers, mouth working it’s way around his chest and neck.  


The flood of intimate touches left Aziraphale trembling and almost in tears. He cupped Crowley’s face in his hands, and leaned forward to rest their foreheads together. The black wings moved with him, pressing against his back and enfolding him in a double embrace.

“What can I do for you, my love?” he whispered. “Tell me; I’ll do anything you want.” 

Crowley sat up straighter and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, holding one wing firmly, and reached down with the other hand to grip the throbbing hardness between his legs again. His thumb stroked him just a little, lingering at the tip. Their lips were a bare fraction apart, noses touching. “You can come for me, hard, right now,” he said softly, and kissed him. 

Aziraphale sobbed and clutched at him, overwhelmed with love and pleasure and the sheer beauty of the entire day. Joy burned incandescent in his chest and made it hard to breathe. He kissed him again, blinking back tears, and reached around him to clasp the base of the the black wings. He held him tight and redoubled his vigorous riding, shaking the sofa and shoving Crowley back into the cushions. His demon groaned and shifted his hand on his back to grip his wing joint, stroking the sensitive area with his fingers. They both gasped and moaned, skin clasped to sweat-slicked skin, both fighting towards the same thing from different directions.   


He felt the pleasures build and build under Crowley’s marvelous, attentive hands, swelling and merging until they were indistinguishable from each other, until he was gasping. “_Oh_...” He reached down between them and put his hand over his husband’s, helping him, showing him exactly how to touch him. “_Ahh_,” he moaned. “Oh, my love...” His toes curled with ecstasy as that warm hand rubbed him just so. It was surely too much; his skin could not possibly contain it, he was going to fly apart.  


“_Yes_, c’mon,” Crowley panted breathlessly. “Come on, angel.” He kissed him, fiercely, and thrust harder.

Aziraphale threw his head back, groaning in a pleasure almost like agony. “_Oh_, that’s it...yes, that’s it...” and a few skillful strokes of Crowley’s fingers and hips later he was suddenly on the verge. He gazed into the golden eyes and held himself there, and for an endless shivering instant hung suspended on the brink of rapture. Crowley’s hands were tight on his wing and on his sex, and he held his entire being in his power. 

He went over the brink and camehard, erupting into Crowley’s hand as he continued to stroke him with his thumb. Aziraphale moaned incoherently and buried his face in his shoulder. His wings thrashed out reflexively, and he heard another couple stacks of books go cascading down, along with a tinkle of shattering glass that was probably the wine and a larger crash that had to be the lamp.

Crowley held the back of his head and kissed his neck as the spasms of pleasure wracked him. “Mmmh, there you go,” he breathed in his ear. “My perfect angel, my- angel, _ aaghhh_... ” The last words became a strangled groan as he gasped and grabbed the small of his back, thrusting hard upwards in desperate uncontrolled jerks. Aziraphale quickly forced himself to raise his head, wanting to watch his husband’s face as he came. Crowley moaned and held him tight, eyes clenched shut and lips parted, hips grinding into him as he took his own well-deserved release. He thrust over and over, filling him with blurry heat until he was entirely spent. 

Aziraphale didn’t let go of him after, so they stayed like that for a long while, with his head on Crowley’s shoulder and their tangled wings hanging limply down on either side of them. He didn’t have the energy to put his own away just yet. Between them they had made quite a mess, so he cleaned them both up with a weary flick of his fingers. 

Crowley hummed, the sound full of quiet satisfaction. He gently extricated his wings and re-furled them away, then tightened his arms around him and tipped them over to stretch out across the sofa together. He was careful to keep Aziraphale on top so his wings didn’t get caught. He lay back and put an arm behind his head, propping it up just enough to look at him. They just lay there and gazed at each other, and there was no need for words. 

Aziraphale sighed and shifted down to rest his cheek on Crowley’s chest, keeping his arms wrapped around his waist. He listened to his heart drumming beneath the ribcage, hot and strong and full of life, human life. The rhythm melded with his own pounding heartbeat and lulled him, making his eyelids feel almost impossibly heavy. He folded his wings in against his back and let them drape down over them, keeping the chill from their bodies. The silken feathers made a very warm cover, more comfortable than any blanket. “You take such good care of me, my love,” he murmured. He wanted to say more things, important things, but his thoughts were moving so languidly.

Crowley reached up and idly stroked a wing, palm lingering at the curve of the top joint. “Other way around, actually. I’m just returning the favor.” He ran his fingers through the feathers again, and the angel lost track of what he had been about to say. 

Aziraphale stretched and closed his eyes, entirely at peace. “Mmm. I guess all this means I’m stuck with you forever now.”

The hand kept stroking, sending more sleepy waves coursing through him. 

“Until the stars grow cold,” Crowley said quietly. “And the universe turns to dust.”

* * *

**[[To continue to Chapter 4 of the wedding story, go here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20616644/chapters/49347026)]**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Want more Ineffable Husbands PWP? This is my companion PWP account, so check out my other works here for more of the same.


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